Let Your Fingers Do the Walking
by Lurkch
Summary: Nyota finds an erogenous zone on Spock that he was previously unaware of. Exploration ensues.


Nyota slips between the covers, a puff of cool air accompanying her. I slip my arm around her waist, and pull the covers up to restore the cocoon of covers trapping our body heat.

"Did I wake you?"

"No."

It is not a lie, exactly. Her absence woke me. When I rolled over and found the bed empty I woke up with a start. Only after a few moments did I realise that she was still here, a sliver of light leaking out under the bathroom door.

"So you're always awake at …" she leans over to the nightstand to check her chronometer "… 3:38 in the morning?"

"Why are you awake?" I am hoping that she is not suffering ill-effects from the Vulcan cuisine we ate earlier. There were certain dishes that she had not liked, but that she had consumed nonetheless. "Was it the food?"

I can see her smile in the moonlight.

"No, it has nothing to do with the food. And for the record it was a flavour and texture I was unfamiliar with, not one that I didn't like."

"Duly noted."

That avenue of conversation exhausted, we lie there quietly, simply enjoying the feel of our bodies close and the momentary freedom to be Spock and Nyota, lovers, rather than Commander and Cadet, members of StarFleet.

"Spock?"

"Yes."

"I'm kind of tired."

"I would assume as much since your sleep cycle has been interrupted."

"What I mean is that I'm not really up for sex right now."

"Have I suggested otherwise?"

"Well, _you_ seem to be _up_ for sex." She shifts her buttocks slightly to press against me, bringing my nascent erection to my attention.

_Ah_. I roll over on my back and she settles beside me.

"That," I whisper in her ear, "is an involuntary response to having your bare body pressed against  
mine."

"Oh." She smiles at this and interlaces her fingers with mine—an action of ambiguous intent.

"Although, if you were amenable … I would not be averse to sexual intercourse."

Receiving no response in the affirmative, I settle for simply enjoying her presence in my bed. One more day of leisure and we will once again be reduced to acting polite and professional.

We are lying there, talking of various things of little import, when she begins to absently massage my hand. I doubt that she has any idea that she is massaging an erogenous zone. Although she knows that the Vulcan equivalent of kissing is done with the hands, she does not yet grasp that this is a biological difference rather than simply a cultural one. I am completely unprepared for the surge of arousal that courses through my body when she decides, for reasons unknown, to suck on one of my fingers experimentally.

And then graze her teeth along the underside of said finger. For a moment I forget how to breathe altogether.

"Spock?" She asks after removing my finger from her mouth.

"Hmm," I manage—not really trusting myself to speak.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." The word comes out considerably more terse than I intend, but then my mind is on other things, like controlling my body's responses to her manipulation of my fingers.

"Does that bother you?"

"No."

"Really?" She props herself up on one arm, skepticism apparent even in the dim light.

"It affects me, but I would not categorise it as bothersome." I hazard a glance toward my navel. Definitely affected. Bothered? Only that she has stopped and seems intent on having a _conversation_, of all things. I pull her close to me so that she is intimately aware of her effect on me.

"Oh. _Oh._" She looks at the telltale tent of the covers and then over at my hand in hers. "Really?"

"Evidently." I have never given it much thought, but perhaps the pleasure I find in manually pleasuring a lover is not entirely from the satisfaction of seeing how I can affect her. Or leakage of her pleasure through my mental shields. Maybe physical stimulation of my fingers plays a part.

"Was it this?" She takes one of my fingers in her mouth and swirls her tongue around it experimentally. "Or this?" She runs her teeth along the length of my finger. She fails to give me time to respond between stimuli but now is not the time to critique her experimental methodology.

"Both," I say when I trust myself to speak. "More the latter," I offer once I manage to think.

"Interesting."

"Decidedly."

"Why didn't you tell me you had a finger fetish?"

"I was not aware—I would not characterize it as a fet—" My brain abandons my speech centre mid-sentence as Nyota continues her experiments on another finger and then decides to explore several fingers at once.

_Hardly a scientific approach._

_Not a pertinent observation_, I remind myself, which is the most coherent thought I can muster.

When she reaches for my other hand, my first thought is that she intends to continue her ministrations with it and I initially resist (there is only so much I can take at one time). She is persistent and eventually I relent … or forget to resist while she distracts me. I am surprised when she guides my hand to my now thoroughly engorged lok instead.

"Come."

"Nyota—"

"Don't you want to?"

Denying the obvious is futile. In any case, that isn't my concern.

"Yessss." It is intended as an answer to her question, but she happens to bite down on the pad of my small finger at that moment. The sensation is exquisite. "Again."

Instead she blows onto one of my wet fingers, which is a novel sensation. Not new, but under these conditions surprisingly stimulating.

"I want to watch you come," she whispers in my ear. The idea is both titillating and sobering. It is one thing to watch each other when we are both engulfed in a haze of desire, quite another to be observed by a partner possessed of all their faculties while you lose yours.

"I'll do it for you," she whispers against my ear.

The image of her on the bed, legs spread wide, pleasuring herself as I watch comes to mind easily—a fantasy I have spent much time perfecting the details of in the preceding year when fantasy was all that was available to me. The thought of actually bringing that fantasy to fruition is enough to spur me to action.

My hand is already moving. In this I am well practiced, but Nyota's stimulation of my fingers adds an unpredictable dimension to what has a become a regular but, until now, solitary act. I am moving my hand swiftly but with control when she bites down at the base of my thumb, her tongue still swirling over the skin, causing my hand to clench suddenly and involuntarily.

Seconds later I am overcome.


End file.
